


True Friends Help You Make Babies

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Families of Choice, Friendship, M/M, Multi, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Parenthood, Pregnancy, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-01 09:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15140042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: Frannie asks Kowalski and Fraser for an unusual favor.





	1. Frannie

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to mekare for the lovely art!

Even though I was watching the clock all during girls’ night out with Elaine, I’m a little late getting home, which means I’m rattled when I walk in the door.  Just what I need.

It’s quiet, at least.  Ray-K’s watching a game with the volume way down low and his feet on the coffee table, which he knows pisses me off.  He greets me with a smirk, daring me to tell him off for messing up the furniture, which I totally would, but not tonight.  Tonight I’ve got more important business to take care of.

“How’d it go?  Any problems?” I ask.

“Nah, kiddo was on her best behavior.  Ate all her dinner, only made me read _Green Eggs and Ham_ three times.  Uh, there might have been a rubber-duck at bathtime that got kind of enthusiastic, but don’t worry, I mopped up.  Just, the bathmat’s hanging on the shower rod, you probably want to leave it there for a while.”

“Sure.”

“How was Elaine?” he asks, because apparently three years of shacking up together has finally caused a little of Fraser’s good manners to start rubbing off on him.

“She’s fine.  Great.  She said to say Hi to you and Frase, so, Hi from Elaine.”

“Hi, Elaine.”  He wiggles his fingers at me in a mock-wave.  I roll my eyes; he shoots back another smirk.

Okay, enough with the polite small-talk.  Time to bring out the big guns, before he gets up and goes home, leaving me to psych myself up for this all over again some other time.

“So, um, Ray-K?”

“Yeah?” 

“I have a question for you.”  I take a deep breath.  Then another one.  Then a—okay, no, just get on with it.  “Um, Frase isn’t here, is he?”

“Nope, just me.  Was that the question?”  He’s looking at me like I’m a couple of cards short of a porch, but at least he waits for me to quit with the hyperventilating and get back with the talking.  Maybe some of Fraser’s patience has been rubbing off on him, too.

“No.  Um.  It’s actually more of a favor.  Actually kind of a big favor.  Okay.  Here’s the thing.  I want to have another baby, and I was wondering, um.  If maybe you and Fraser could help me?”

His eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t seem as surprised as I was expecting him to be.  What, he gets this kind of proposition every day?

“Uh, sure, I guess so,” he says.  “I don’t know anything about adoption, but I bet Fraser would be happy to give you a hand with the paperwork or whatever.  Or, oh, do you need us to write you a recommendation or something?”

“No, no,” I say hastily.  “I’m not talking about adoption.”

Well, that obviously confuses Mr. Thick Skull even more, because he goes, “Uh. . .what, you want someone to hold your hand at the sperm bank?  ‘Cause, I mean, don’t girls usually bring other girls to do that?”

“How should I know?  I’ve never been to a sperm bank, and I’m not planning to start now.  I don’t want to have some _stranger’s_ baby.”

“Well, unless you got a secret boyfriend I don’t know about. . .” he says, like _I’m_ the one who’s being thick, here.  Honestly, I’d clock him one if I didn’t need him to do me a favor.

“That’s the _point,_ ” I explain, all nice and patient.  “I don’t have a boyfriend.  At this point, I don’t even want a boyfriend.  I just want to get pregnant, and obviously I can’t do that by myself, there needs to be a man involved, and I don’t want some total stranger’s sperm, and I thought, I wondered if maybe you’d be willing to—”

_Now_ he reacts, all right.  His feet hit the floor with a thump and he points at me with both hands, scowling, as he says, “Whoa, whoa, just a freakin’ second.  You’re saying you want help with—you want _us_ to help you—you’re asking for my permission to let Ben knock you up?”

“You don’t have to be crude about it,” I snap.  My face gets all hot, even though I’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, here.  We’re reasonable adults—or at least, _I_ am—and there’s nothing embarrassing about talking about babies, or pregnancy, or. . .or getting pregnant.  It’s all perfectly natural.  “And not just Frase.  Both of you.  Because, I mean, it would be really weird to ask one of you and not the other.”

For a second, Ray-K looks astonished, with his eyes all big and round like a doll’s.  Then the scowl comes back, multiplied by two, which is just bizarre.  I mean, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d said no, or even made fun of me, because yes, it’s totally a weird thing to ask somebody, even a friend.  But why the hell is he angry? 

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Frannie.  I thought we were friends, here.”  He’s on his feet, fists balled at his sides, absolutely furious, and seriously, Ray-K, what the hell?

“We _are,_ that’s why I’m asking you.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s real friendly.  Jesus Christ, I thought you were done trying to get into Ben’s pants, and then you go and pull this bullshit?  This is—this is beyond not-funny, it’s just cruel.”

“I’m not trying to get into anybody’s _pants,_ Jesus.”

“No?  ‘Cause last I checked, the way to make a baby is a guy sticks his—”

“Ew, Ray-K, _God,_ I’m gonna tell Fraser to wash your mouth out with soap.  I wasn’t asking to have _sex,_ we can use a turkey baster, all you have to do is, you know, in a cup.  I don’t want to be a _homewrecker._   I just want a kid, and it's not like I can hook up with some random guy and get pregnant accidentally on purpose, that would just be sleazy and unfair.”

“So you thought you'd ask the gay guys next door, that's more fair?”

“You’re not gay, you’re bisexual.  You both like women, too—”

“Yeah, sure, women are great, what’s your point?”

“My point is—my point is, it’s more fair because I'm _asking_.  I'm getting informed consent.  And you’re not just some random guys, you’re my _friends._   What else am I supposed to do, go door-to-door?  Ask Mr. Petrelli down the block to. . .loan me a cup of sugar?”

“You don’t have to hit up an 80-year-old mobster.  Go to a sperm bank, for Chrissake, that’s what they’re for.”

What the hell is his problem?  If he doesn’t want to do it, all he has to say is _no thanks_.  He doesn’t have to blow his pile at me.  What’d I do that was so terrible?

“Well, I mean, sure, I could do that, but. . .I want to know what I’m getting.”  I swallow; my throat’s getting all tight.  What do I need to say to make him get it?  “I want my baby’s dad to be a stand-up guy.  You and Frase, you’re good people.  And I trust you guys, that’s the important thing, and it’s not like you can have a baby with each other—”

“That’s right, so where the hell do you get off asking us to give _you_ one?  What’s so fucking fair about—”

“It could be yours too.”

Well, that shuts him up.  He gives me that big-eyed stare again, with his mouth kind of hanging open like he got shot with some kind of freeze-ray in the middle of talking.

Honestly, I feel kind of the way he looks.  I hadn’t really made up my mind whether I wanted to bring that up at all with them, and this is a really dumb time to do it.  But the cat’s out of the purse now, so I don’t have any choice other than to keep talking.

“I was thinking. . .you guys could help raise it.”  My voice comes out all tiny and girly, like I’m thirteen and Pop’s yelling at me for doing something stupid.  But I’m a grown woman, and Ray-K is just a guy, a _friend_ , even if he’s being a jerk at the moment, he doesn’t scare me, and I’m not gonna cry in front of him, I’m _not._   “I mean, not if you don't want to.  I'm doing okay raising Julia by myself, with Ma helping and everything, but I just thought, I mean, you’d be good fathers, that’s obvious, you’re great with Julia and Fraser’s, well, he’s Fraser, duh.  And I thought. . .maybe you'd want to.”

He’s still looking at me like. . .like I don’t know what.  Like I _stabbed_ him or something.  I don’t know what else to say.  I’ve said everything, now it’s his turn.

“That’s what you thought,” he echoes bitterly.

“I’m sorry?” I offer.

His mouth twists into something that isn’t really a smile.  He grabs his windbreaker and storms out the door. 

Well, shit. 

 


	2. Fraser

“. . .And then she’s all like, oh, no, I don’t want to have sex with you, we can just use a turkey baster. Like that’s better.” Ray is well and truly worked up, his hands gesticulating wildly as he paces from couch to bookshelf and back again like a caged tiger. That barely leashed explosive energy would be immensely sexy if it weren’t obvious that Ray is in pain. 

“Isn’t it?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause that’s how I like my friends to think of me, just a walking sperm bank.”

“I’m sure Francesca didn’t mean to imply anything like that,” I remonstrate, but Ray’s having none of it. 

“Yeah? Easy for you to say. She’s been hot for you since forever. Me, I’m just the babysitter.”

Is this what Ray’s upset about? Francesca’s ‘crush’ on me has always been something of a sore point with him, to be sure, but I didn’t think it still bothered him to this degree. Particularly as her behavior towards me has largely lost its sexual overtones, since Ray and I became romantic partners and Francesca became a mother. This has been a cause for relief and gratitude to me, and has made both my friendship with her, and Ray’s, vastly more comfortable. Still, her tactlessness combined with Ray’s volatility might easily have led to some misunderstanding.

“Ray. You know there’s never been anything between Francesca and myself, don’t you?”

“Not because she ain’t hot for you,” he shoots back, stopping his frenetic movement to square off at me. “And you’ve got to admit, she’s a sexy lady.”

“I don’t deny she has her charms, but I’m with you. For good.” I clasp his shoulders with both hands, and he doesn’t pull away. I look him in the face until he raises his eyes to mine. “I love you.”

He stares at me like a fear-paralyzed rabbit, motionless under my hands, quivering with the need to run. 

“No, I know. I do know that. And I know you’d never cheat.”

“Then why do you feel threatened by Francesca’s feelings for me—if she even still has them, which frankly, I—”

“Because—because—because it’s—it’s insulting, is what it is.” His eyes slide away from mine, his body all unhappy tension.

“But you said she said she didn’t want to, ah, sleep with either of us, so I fail to understand why you’re so upset about—”

He shrugs off my grasp; I don’t try to hold him. Freed, he immediately starts pacing again, the jerky movements of his hands echoing his speech. “Right, right. Nothing to see here, Mr. Logic, just Ray losing his shit for no reason.” 

“Well, at the very least, I do think you’re being a bit inconsistent,” I point out, keeping my voice calm in the face of his agitation. “It doesn’t seem reasonable to be angry with her for wanting to sleep with. . .us, and also to be angry with her for not wanting to sleep with us.”

“Frase, pay attention. This ain’t about sex.”

“No?”

“No. Jesus fucking—”

“Ray, there’s no call for profanity—”

“—freaking crickets, okay, is that better? Frase, she wants us to have a kid with her.”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t upset you at all? No big deal?”

“I didn’t say that. Of course it’s a big—”

“Fucking ambushes me when I’m babysitting, talking about fucking turkey basters. Sorry, freaking goddamn turkey basters.”

“Ray. . .”

“She knows we like kids, obviously we like kids, we sit for Julia like almost every week, and she knows we can’t—so why would she—? And then she said—and then she. . .”

Ray halts by the window with his back to me, silent.

“What else did she say?” I prompt, but he doesn’t answer. “Ray?”

Still no response, but I wait him out until he finally says, in a soft, small voice, “She offered to let us be the dads.” 

“Yes, so you said.”

“No, I mean. . .like, for real. Help her raise the kid.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I. . .oh.” 

I’m literally speechless. That Francesca would ask for our help to conceive was a surprise, but this. . .this is not something I would have imagined in my wildest flights of fancy. I can’t even seem to pin down the idea in order to think about it coherently; it’s as slippery as a live fish in my mental grasp.

“I mean, seriously. What the hell was she thinking?” Ray’s tone is more sullen than belligerent, the way it gets when he’s too miserable to mount a proper display of aggression.

“It was. . .very generous of her,” I manage.

“Crazy, you mean.”

“Francesca doesn’t always. . .think things through, it’s true. But the impulse was—”

“Fine, whatever you say. She’s a peach. Also a nutbar. I don’t know why I even told you. It’s a joke, it’s—”

“Ray.”

“What?” 

“It’s not a joke.”

Ray wheels to fix me with an intense, wide-eyed stare for the length of several heartbeats. Then, just as abruptly, he’s in motion, advancing on me with his index finger pointed like a lance. 

“No. No, do not do that. You gotta laugh at it. You gotta make me laugh at it. Come on, it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous to help out a friend.”

“Oh, sure, and you could just give Frannie a cup of jizz, Here you go, pal, glad I could help, and just walk away, another job well done, end of story?”

He’s right, of course. I couldn’t do that, and no more could he.

The alternative is terrifying. And yet. . .

Ray is watching me intently, his lean frame taut with tension, his eyes huge with panic, silently entreating me to make this right, make it all come out okay.

“Ray, I. . .Did I ever tell you about the time, ah, a female friend asked me to assist her in inquiring into the adoption process?” 

Ray shakes his head, so I plunge ahead. 

“There was, ah, what in retrospect was a rather comic misunderstanding, and I believed she was inviting me to. . .well, something like Francesca’s proposal. I. . .well, it’s just as well I was mistaken; I don’t think we would have. . .neither of us was really ready for such a serious. . . In the end, I believe she decided to remain childless, after all, though perhaps one day. . . Well, that’s not important. What I’m trying to say is, I agreed to her proposal in the first place because I wanted her to be happy, but also because I—for that brief time when I thought I was going to be a father, I felt. . .well, terrified. But also. . .elated.” 

Ray is shaking his head again, slowly, his brows crumpled in a bewildered scowl. “But you don’t want kids. Do you?”

“I. . .it would be a serious undertaking.” It shouldn’t be this difficult to simply say what I feel. For Ray’s sake, for both our sakes, I persevere. “It would mean making changes to my life—to our lives—that might not come easily. I worry that I might not be up to the task.”

That’s an understatement, to put it mildly. The trouble, of course, is that while I’ve always tried to live up to my father’s example, as a Mountie and as a man, I’m terrified of turning out to be a chip off his old block in this one particular way. But I don’t need to burden Ray with all that right at this moment. He does need to know; I need to tell him, and soon. But right now, the important thing is to get at what’s bothering him.

His scowl has deepened, confusion blending with some darker element. He hugs his crossed arms tightly against his chest as he asks, “So you. . .you do want. . . ?”

“For most of my life, it’s been a moot question,” I reply. “Children didn’t seem to be in the cards, so I made peace with that fact, as I made peace with the likelihood that I’d spend my life alone.” Ray makes an inarticulate noise of startled protest, his shoulders jerking. I lay a reassuring hand on his bicep as I continue, “But now that I’ve found you, now that I mean to spend my life with you. . .I could be happy without children, with you. Truly. But, it would also bring me joy, to raise a child with you.”

“You never said,” he mutters. There’s no accusation in his tone, but he’s hunched in on himself, not looking at me any longer.

“It didn’t occur to me as a possibility,” I admit.

Ray says nothing. 

“Ray,” I ask, as gently as I know how. “Is that something you want? To have—to raise a child?

His shoulders jerk in a shrug as he stares down at his tightly-laced hands. “Thought about it. When I was married. Dumb idea.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“I’d suck at it,” he whispers, so softly that I can barely make the words out.

“I doubt that’s true.” I squeeze his shoulder. “And no one’s asking you to do it alone.”

Finally, his head comes up. His eyes, meeting mine, are round and shiny-wet. I can feel the tension ebbing from his frame, even before he lays his head on my shoulder and puffs out a sigh.

“So what you’re saying is, I better apologize to Frannie?”


	3. Ray

 

“Ray, would you please sit down?” Ben asks in his polite-but-getting-pissed voice.  He’s asked me like three times already to stop pacing.  But I can’t.  I’m crawling out of my skin, here.  This is crazy, this is a horrible idea, what the hell were we thinking, this is really happening. . .

“Ray, please.  You’re making me nervous.”  He’s saying that to convince me to do what he wants, of course, but from the way he’s tugging at his collar, I can tell he actually _is_ nervous.

“Sorry.  Sorry.  I just—I mean—”

“I know.”  He comes over and puts both hands on my shoulders.  It steadies me a little, like it always does, but when the doorbell rings, we both jump like we’ve heard a gunshot. 

“Door,” he says.

“Yeah.  Uh.  Right.”

He straightens the collar of my polo shirt, like that’ll have any kind of permanent effect, then reaches to fuss with my hair.  I bat his hand away before he can mess it up, so he runs it over his own already-perfectly-smoothed-down hair instead.

“Do you want to—?”

“Are you gonna—?” 

“Right.  I’ll just. . .”

Ben goes to get the door, and there’s Frannie.  She’s dressed up, but more like court-date dressy than date-night dressy: a plum-colored silk blouse that barely shows any of her cleavage and a black skirt that’s more swishy than clingy.  She looks really pretty.  She looks nervous.  Guess that makes three of us.  Yeesh, this is gonna be fun.

“Good evening, Francesca,” says Ben, all stiff and stuffed and formal like he gets when he’s nervous, which is so weirdly different from the way he ordinarily makes old-fashioned manners look natural.

“Hi.  Um.  Hi,” she says.

He steps back to let her in, but she just stands in the doorway, fidgeting with her purse.  Looks past him to me, and her chin goes up like she’s daring me to give her shit.  Which, yeah, Frannie’s a lot like me, that way: kick her in the teeth, she’ll come up spitting.  Do her crying at home where no one can see.

Only, I did see the look on her face when I shot her down the other day.  Even if I was too mad at the time to admit it.  I’ve been the asshole in this whole story, and first order of business here is me giving her that apology I owe her.

“Hey, Frannie, I, uh. . .” I rub the back of my neck, looking at how her shirt kind of ripples in the breeze from the open window, because it’s too hard to look at her face while I spit this out.  “I’m sorry I was a jerk to you, you know, the other day.  I didn’t mean. . .just, you kind of surprised me, and I didn’t know what to. . .but I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you.  Wasn’t fair.  Wasn’t buddies.”

“That’s okay,” she says.  Sounds like she means it.  “I sprung this whole thing on you, and I didn’t. . .I mean, it’s a big deal, obviously, I know that.  So it makes sense that you’d. . .um. . .have feelings about it.  And also, I guess I didn’t say this right the first time, because I totally am asking you a favor, but I also thought, or, um, hoped that maybe it would be something you’d. . .you’d want to do for you, too.”

“Yeah.”  My voice sounds crackly, and for God’s sake, I’m not going to go all teary-eyed on here, there’s just no call for that.  “Yeah, I—we do.  So, um.  Thanks.”

She gives me this big, soft smile—because Frannie’s got a soft side, it’s just always hard to remember that because her loud side is so loud.  Her brother’s like that too, to hear Ben tell it.

“So, um.”  She bites one side of her lip, still smiling.  “Does that mean you want to. . . ?”

I cut a glance over to Ben, checking in.  He looks a question at me, so I jerk my chin, giving him the go-ahead.

“We would be happy to help you conceive,” he says.  “But only if—ah, that is, we would prefer—we don’t think we could—what I mean to say is, you generously offered—”

At this point, I jump in, because otherwise he’s going to take all freaking night to spit it out.

“We want in.  As dads.  We want it to be our kid too.”

He shoots me a _thank-you_ look, then looks back at Frannie, so I look at her too, which is where I should’ve been looking in the first place.  That soft smile of hers gets even more so, like a lightbulb with someone cranking up the dimmer switch, until she just glows with it.  And she ain’t even pregnant, yet.

Wow.

She doesn’t say anything right away, and I’m so distracted looking at her that I don’t either, but fortunately, Ben picks up the ball and runs with it.

“Which isn’t to say—that is, we’d like to help with—I don’t know how you were envisioning the, ah, logistics working out. . . ?”

“Oh,” says Frannie.  “I don’t have, like, a master plan or anything.  But we could have some kind of arrangement, you know, like divorced couples do, where you could have the baby at your place every other weekend or whatever, and then—well, there’d be daycare, of course, during the day, like I’m already doing with Julia.  And I know you both work crazy hours—crazier than they pay you for—but if you wanted to take the baby for a couple of nights a week, maybe. . . ?”

“I’m sure we could make that work,” says Ben.  “And I could probably get the Inspector to reduce my shifts at the Consulate so that I could continue my police work with Ray, while still having more time available for child care.”

“I can get my hours shifted around so I’m off when you guys are on,” says Frannie.

“And I can talk to Welsh, see if there’s any chance of reducing my hours some,” I offer, although that’s gonna be harder to pull off.

“And, of course, we would contribute financially,” Ben adds. 

“It’s not about that—” Frannie protests.

“No, we want to,” I jump in.  “It’s part of the job, right?  Raising a kid costs money.  And we’ve got two incomes, you’ve only got one.  We could split three ways, that’d be fair—”

“Half is plenty,” she interrupts.  “You don’t have to—I wouldn’t expect—I mean, half would be. . .good.”

“Half and half, then,” Ben agrees solemnly, before I can argue, so I nod, backing him up.

“However you want,” I tell Frannie.  “What about Julia, though?  I mean, not the money thing, but just. . .like, if one of the kids is at our house and the other’s still with you, then it doesn’t buy you anything, timewise.  And it’d be weird for them, too, right?  But I don’t—I mean, she’s yours, we’re not—but if you wanted—”

“Step-fathers, of a sort?”  Ben rescues me from my floundering, his eyes on Frannie’s face, alert for her reaction.

Which is to look shocked and then do some pretty impressive floundering herself.

“That. . .I didn’t even think. . .I mean, duh, two kids, but I was thinking so hard about _this_ one that I didn’t think about how. . .you’d really do that?  I mean, you don’t have to, but. . .”

“You know we love her,” he says quietly.

“We’re kind of almost family anyway,” I add.

She gives me a smile—soft, almost shy, which is not something you see much from Frannie.  Then she turns it on Ben and kind of gets stuck there.  Not really a surprise.  I know this whole baby thing really is about kids, not putting the moves on Ben, I do get that, but that doesn’t magically make him just some random guy to her.

“I guess we’ll figure something out, then,” she says.

“Agreed,” Ben replies.

“Okay,” she says,  But then all that soft, happy glow kind of dies down and she makes a scrunched-up worried face.  “But. . .” 

“But what?” I ask.

“It’s just. . .I know you guys know this, but. . .cops, raising kids, it’s tough.  I mean, there’s the danger, but then just. . .you know, it’s the kid’s soccer game and you said you’d be there but you can’t just drop everything in the middle of a car chase or whatever, and. . .”

Yeah, I know.  Stella said it with fancier words and less fumbling, but the gist was the same.  And I can’t claim the point ain’t valid.  I’ve seen plenty of guys struggle to be there for their families, and women give up their badges because it was too damn hard to make it work.  And none of them were married (or as good as) to another cop.

Fraser said the same, when we talked this over between the two of us. 

“You’re right,” he tells Frannie now, dead serious.  “It will be difficult, probably more difficult than any of us is anticipating, despite our previous experiences.  We can’t promise you that neither of us will ever be killed in the line of duty.  And I’m afraid, much as we’d like to, we can’t honestly promise to be ideal parents, either.  What we can promise—if you’ll let me take the liberty of speaking for you, Ray?—what we can promise is that we will do our best.  We will make our child—and Julia, and you—a priority.  We will uphold our responsibilities, financial, logistical, and emotional, to the very best of our abilities.”

Frannie’s staring up at him—I’d say starry-eyed, but it’s not like she used to look at him, back when she thought they were living in some kind of romance novel and any minute now he was going to start ripping off her bodice.  No, she looks as solemn as he does, only her eyes are all shiny and wet.

Before she can say anything, though, Ben goes on, “And speaking only for myself, now: if you ever feel that I’m neglecting our child—that I’ve let my devotion to justice compromise my ability to be a good father—then I ask both of you, I beg you, to call me on it.  And I promise you, if that happens, I will retire from the RCMP and find some other way of earning a living.”

Now Frannie looks completely shocked, and I feel just the same, because that was off-script, not part of what we’d agreed to tell her.  And sure, we did have that whole conversation about how Ben’s afraid of turning out too much like him in the wrong ways, but I literally can’t imagine Ben not being a Mountie any more.  Didn’t think he could, either. 

Still. . .in one way, it’s not a surprise at all.  When Fraser commits to something, he goes all-in.

All-in’s the only way to do this.

“But it’s okay, that’s not gonna happen,” I say, taking hold of his elbow to reassure him.  But he’s rock solid.  I’m the one who’s shaking all of a sudden, because this shit just got real.  “You’re not gonna do that—you’ll be a great dad, and there will be all three of us, and we’ll. . .we’ll work it all out.  We’ll find a way.  Right?” I ask Frannie, because, at the end of the day, this is her show.

She looks at him, and she looks at me, and she nods, slow and serious.

“Right,” she agrees.  “So. . .I guess we’ve got a deal.”

She sticks out her hand for us to shake, and we do, first Ben and then me, all three of us solemn as a funeral, but I’m buzzing underneath my skin and I can feel that same nervous energy bottled up in both of them.  After we’ve done the formal thing, we all stand there looking at each other like, _Now what?_

It’s Frannie who eventually snaps out of it and gets us back on target.  She tosses her hair back, but not in a time-for-my-glamour-shot kind of way, more like a nervous-fidgeting kind of way, especially with how she follows it up by licking her lips and fussing with her blouse and, by the way, not quite looking either of us in the face.

“Okay, one last thing, and I hate to ask this, and I’m sure you’re both okay, or you would’ve said something before now, but, um.  Have you had. . .tests?”

“We both tested negative for HIV last month,” Ben assures her—and I will never understand how he gets blushy and tongue-tied about sex, yet he can talk about _that_ like it’s the weather report.  “Along with a general clean bill of health.  We make a point of getting tested following any incident in which we come into contact with bodily fluids on the job, which is perhaps overly cautious, but it ensures peace of mind.  And the current tests are quite good, they can detect antibodies after only a few weeks, not months.”

“And we haven’t done anything that might expose us since then,” I jump in, before Ben can get rolling with the too-many-details.  “Nothing on the job, and we, uh, you know, safe sex, just with each other.”

“Yeah, I figured,” says Frannie.  There’s another awkward silence, shorter this time, before she forges ahead again (as Ben would say).  “So. Um. I guess we’re doing the turkey baster thing?  I brought one along, I figured you’d want to. . .”

I look over at Ben, who’s already looking at me.

He hates the turkey baster idea.  Not that he’s said so—he was real careful not to say so, when we talked this whole thing over between ourselves.  But I know it wouldn’t sit right with him, to do this in that hands-off kind of way. 

What he says, though, is, “Of course, we’re happy to do whatever you prefer.” 

And it’s funny, because normally, you give Frannie an inch, she takes a yard, and half the time she doesn’t even wait for you to give her the inch in the first place, but this, she doesn’t jump on.  Instead, she looks at him, then at me, then down at her hands that are still clutching her purse.  Then she takes a deep breath and looks up at him again, squaring up her shoulders like she’s going into battle.

“I don’t. . .I really was just asking you to have a baby with me.”  She gives a little snort and rolls her eyes.  “Well.  _Just._   But, you know what I mean.  It wasn’t about. . .I honestly wasn’t trying to. . .to get between you or. . .or into anyone’s pants, or anything. . .”

“We know,” says Ben, and I echo, “Yeah.”

“Okay,” she says.  “Okay, so.  So, it’s not about that.  And seriously, I’m fine any way we do it, as long as I end up pregnant.  But since you’re asking, well.  I’d rather get pregnant by having sex.”  Props to Frannie, she manages to say the word _sex_ while looking Ben in the face.  And props to him, he turns bright red but doesn’t look away.  “It just feels more. . .respectful, you know?  More real.”

Ben nods, like _I get what you’re saying_.  Which, of course he does, because he feels the same.  All-in.

Then they both look at me.

I got no reason to be jealous, I know that.  I trust Ben, and you know, I trust Frannie, too, I do.  She’s not trying to pull any funny business, and it wouldn’t work on Ben if she did.  This is no big deal.  Hell, hot threesome action with a hot guy _and_ a cute girl, it’s every guy’s fantasy, right?  (Every bi guy, anyway.)  But my stomach’s knotted up, and my heart’s going a mile a minute, and my palms are sweating, and it’s not ‘cause I’m turned on.  I look at the two of them standing there looking at me, my friends, my partner and our soon-to-be partner-in-a-whole-terrifying-other-way, and I can’t even picture them touching each other, looking at each other like—like—

I could say no.  I could say, _you know what, let’s stick to the turkey baster_ , and that would be a totally reasonable thing to say, and they’d both be cool with it.  Hell, Ben wouldn’t want me to say yes if I’m not comfortable with it, neither would Frannie.  It’d be easier all ‘round.  Keep things simple.

I swallow, take my hands out of my pockets, and open my mouth.

“If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it right.”


	4. Frannie

Wow, this is weirder than I thought it was going to be.  Ray-K won’t look me in the face or sit still, Frase looks like someone jammed a pole up his ass, and as for me, between nerves and all the business talk, I’m feeling about as sexy as a raw chicken.  What the hell was I thinking?  This was a terrible idea.  Not the baby part, I’m pretty sure that was one of my best ideas ever.  But I should have just asked them to. . .you know. . .in a jar, done the turkey baster thing, and gone the hell home.

Too late now, though, because here we are, all three of us stuffed into Fraser and Ray-K’s bedroom, which is barely big enough to hold their queen-size bed, two dressers, a laundry hamper, and three people who apparently all wish they were anywhere else but here.  I figure it’s up to me to get things moving, since I’m the one who called this party.

So I slip my shoes off, congratulating myself on having worn ones without straps that I can get off easily while standing.  But then there’s no dignified way to get my pantyhose off, so I just go ahead and reach under my skirt to wiggle them down.  Fraser gets kind of bug-eyed; then he quickly bends over to untie his hiking boots.  Butt to the wall, because you’ll never catch that man accidentally mooning somebody, and I should know: I spent years watching for any glance I could catch of that ass. . .and it hits me, as I’m balancing on one foot trying not to rip my stocking or fall over, that I’m about to get an eyeful.  _Holy Moses._

Once we’re all barefoot,  I think about just going on and getting rid of the rest of my clothes.  That would be _direct,_ all right, but I don’t actually want to feel like a hooker.  We said we’d do this right.

Only apparently three grown-ups with two divorces among them plus—well, at least _some_ experience having sex with other human beings—apparently we have no idea how to this right.  Although, to be fair, I don’t think any of us have ever done exactly _this_ before. 

“Are we getting into bed or what?” I ask.  Not my smoothest move ever, but at least it gets them both to look at me. 

“Ah, yes, perhaps we’d better. . .”  Fraser tugs at his shirt collar.  His eyes dart back and forth between me and Ray-K.  “How should we. . . ?”

“Go ahead, Ben.”  Ray-K jerks his head at the bed as he leans up against the wall with his arms crossed. 

“Right you are.” 

Frase shoots him a last nervous glance, nods, then holds out his hand to me, real solemn, almost formal, like he’s asking me to dance, and I mean Cinderella-at-the-ball kind of dance.  He _escorts_ me the couple of steps to the bed, waits for me to sit, and then sits down beside me, so close his knee bumps mine.  I can feel the heat coming off him.

For a second, nothing happens.  I look into his eyes and he stares back at me like a squirrel in the headlights.  It’s the same way he looked that one time, when I went to his apartment, all dolled up in black leather. . .  My face gets hot with embarrassment at the memory of how badly I wanted him back then, and what an idiot I was about it, and the real panic on his face when I—

But here and now, he smiles through his nervousness, and he cups my face in both his hands, and he . . .kisses me.

Oh my god.  Fraser is kissing me.  Just softly, but not the least little bit hesitant.  A real, honest kiss.

His eyes drift shut, but I keep mine open because. . .I don’t know, I guess I just need some kind of reality-check.  I’m really here, it’s really him, we’re really doing this.  Benton Fraser is kissing me.  I’m kissing him.

It’s. . .kind of weird, actually.  Not the kiss itself, that’s great.  But just, I dreamed about this for so long, but then he and Ray-K got together and I had Julia, and I guess at some point in there, I moved on.  No matter what stupid stuff Ray-K said before, this honestly was never about getting into Fraser’s pants.  And yeah, he’s still gorgeous and—and _him_ , and I’m not _dead_ , okay. . .but it’s not. . .well, I guess it’s _real_ , is what it is.  Real, and good, and a little weird.

When the kiss ends, he pulls back just enough to meet my eyes.  He’s a little flustered, but he doesn’t look like he’s panicking any more. 

“May I. . . ?”  His eyes drop to the buttons of my blouse and he licks his bottom lip, which makes me want to lick it for him, except it turns out I’m not actually that gutsy. 

“Yeah,” I whisper.  “Sure.  Go ahead.”

Man, Fraser’s hands are so big—and so gentle.  He takes his time, lingering over each of my buttons like it’s a special event.  I’m shivering by the time he pushes the blouse off my shoulders and cups my breasts, one in each hand.  Just _holding_ them, and my bra’s still on and everything, but it feels so good. . .it’s been such a long time since a man touched my breasts.  Nursing is a totally different ball of grease.

Biting my lips, I look down at the edges of my bra peeking out of those big hands, then peek at his face and catch him looking up at me through his eyelashes.

He looks like he’s seeing something beautiful.

My breath catches in my throat, and I hear him inhale before he bends his head and kisses that spot right at the top of my cleavage—what would be my cleavage if I were wearing more than a bra right now—

—And over his bent head, I see Ray-K, still leaning against the wall, watching us.  Arms crossed, shoulders hunched, jaw clenched.  He looks miserable.

He doesn’t want to do this.  He was the one who said _let’s do it_ , why the hell did he say that if he didn’t want it?  Why the hell did I open this box of worms in the first place?  We could have just done the turkey baster, but no, so now I really am going to be a homewrecker, oh God, what have I done?

Fraser twigs that something’s wrong, because he looks at me like, _Are you okay?_ I flick my eyes in Ray-K’s direction and then back to meet Fraser’s.  He gets the message right away and starts to pull away from me, but I stop him with my hand on his knee.

_Don’t worry, I got this,_ I tell him with my eyes, and he gives me a tiny little nod back, and for a second it’s like we’re partners.

“Hey, Frase, tell your boyfriend to stop lounging around looking pretty and come help you out,” I say.

Ray-K jumps like a kid caught passing notes in class, but there’s a spark in his eyes as he looks from my face to Fraser’s.

“You heard the lady, Ray.”  Fraser’s face is solemn, but his voice, _Jesus_.  If people knew he could sound like that, like melted chocolate tastes, he’d need a security detail just to walk down the street.  I start breathing faster, I can’t help it, and Ray-K sucks in his lower lip. 

When Fraser holds out his hand, Ray-K peels himself off the wall and comes to sit on my other side.  Once he gets there, though, he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. 

It’s not like I’ve ever done this three-person thing before, either, but I figure the important thing is to keep things moving, so I ask, “Hey Frase, is he a good kisser?”

“Superlative, in my opinion.”  Fraser’s eyes twinkle; he’s totally playing along.  “But I admit that I am hardly an impartial witness.  A little independent verification might be in order.”

“Okay, show me what you got,” I tell Ray-K.

He looks a little weirded out, but he cups my face just like Fraser did and he kisses me, and it’s a 100 percent kiss, maybe 110.  He slides his tongue between my lips with a slow rhythm like the last dance of the prom, and his thumbs caress my cheekbones, and when I suck on his tongue he makes this soft, high sound in his throat.  By the time he lets go of me, I can barely breathe.

“That what you were looking for?” he asks. 

He’s trying to do that cocky swagger act he puts on because he thinks makes people think he’s cool, or macho, or whatever.  Actually, it just makes people want to hit him with a stapler, because, ugh, men.  But that’s on the job or whatever.  In the bedroom, I actually kind of have a thing for the he-man, take-charge routine.  Right up until the point where it turns out they’re assholes—but I know Ray-K’s actually _not_ an asshole (mostly), and I know he was at least as nervous as me about this whole thing a second ago.  So, even though his stupid act should be a turn-off, it actually gets me more excited.

“I don’t know, I might need some more convincing,” I tell him, but then _I_ kiss _him_ before he has a chance.  When I push my tongue into his mouth, he makes kind of a purring noise and threads his fingers into my hair, and pretty soon, our tongues are trading back and forth, and he’s holding my head steady with one hand and stroking the back of my neck with the other, and it’s just. . .wow, he’s pretty damn good at this, which I wouldn’t necessarily have expected.  He’s also moaning softly every time I give him my tongue, which is totally sexy because when was the last time a guy was this into kissing me?  Probably not since my wedding night.  Or maybe high school.

I don’t know how long we’ve been at it when I realize that I’ve almost forgotten about Frase, even though he’s sitting so close, I’m practically leaning on him.  I turn my head to look at him, feeling like maybe I should apologize, but wow, he doesn’t look like he’s feeling left out.  He looks. . .totally focused, you know, in that way he gets, only, whoa, his eyes are honest-to-God _sultry_ , and he’s licking his lips in a way that isn’t nervous at all, that’s _hungry_ lip-licking, _oh my God_ , this is what Fraser looks like when he’s turned on.

Now I know. 

“You're beautiful together,” he whispers. 

“We could. . .” I offer.  “I mean, if you want. . . ?”

“Please, carry on,” he says.  “But. . .if you don’t mind. . .may I. . . ?”

“Anything you want, Frase,” I blurt out, and then I want to kick myself, because I don’t want to make Ray-K feel bad all over again.

But Ray-K’s shining this sweet, hot smile on Fraser.  He tips Frase a wink and says, “You heard the lady.”

By the way, Ray-K winking?  Is honestly pretty hot.

“Indeed, I did,” murmurs Fraser.  He gets up, goes over to Ray-K and strips the polo shirt off him, just like that.

Ray-K’s chest is even skinnier than I expected—seriously, I can count his ribs—and he doesn’t have a hair on him.  Not my usual type at all. . .but he’s sexy in his own way.

“Would you care to make yourself more comfortable?” Frase asks me, motioning to the pillows at the head of the bed.  His other hand’s resting on Ray-K’s bare shoulder.

I scoot up to the head of the bed to sit with my back against the pillows, swing my feet up and—why not?—rest them on Ray-K’s lap.  Fraser gets on the bed behind him and runs his hands all up and down Ray-K’s chest, and, okay, _that_ is _seriously_ sexy, especially when Ray-K groans softly as he leans his head back to rest on Fraser’s shoulder. 

Fraser dips his head to kiss Ray-K’s temple and his shoulder, and murmurs something in his ear. 

“Mmkay.”  Ray-K crawls up the bed to kneel between my legs.  He kisses me again, but instead of touching my face like he did before, he tugs on my bra.

“Can I?”

“Go ahead,” I say, kind of surprised that he asked.  We’re here to have sex, after all; it’d be weirder if I left my bra _on_.  I bet Fraser taught him to ask.  He’s got those kind of manners; Ray-K, not so much.

Ray-K reaches behind me to unhook the bra, slides it off and gives my breasts a long, admiring look.  (I do have pretty nice breasts, if I do say so myself, even if they’re on the small side.)  He makes question-eyes at me, so I nod and spread out my arms, leaving my chest wide open, like _be my guest_. 

With a grin, he takes one in each hand and starts playing with them.  Real gently, his fingers exploring underneath while his thumbs brush my nipples, giving me goosebumps, handling me like I’m something delicate and precious.  It’s nice, but at the same time I want to shake him, because I’m _not_ delicate and that too-soft stroking is making me crazy for more.

He peeks up at me through his eyelashes, checking my reaction.  (And those eyelashes, on a guy?  Totally unfair!)  I grab his face with both my hands and kiss him hard, pushing my tongue into his mouth impatiently.  He gives a startled grunt, and his fingers stutter, close to my nipple but not actually _on_ it, damn it.

I hear a soft chuckle from Fraser.  Then Ray-K gasps and twitches, which I don’t think was from anything I did, so I’m guessing Fraser did something special with those wandering hands.

“Okay, okay, got it,” Ray-K mutters.  Then he goes back to kissing, opening up for my tongue, sucking on it, and at the same time, he firms up his grip on my breasts, takes each of my nipples between thumb and forefingers and tweaks them gently— _yes, God, finally!_

I manage to turn my squeak into more of a sexy, breathy moan, and he _mm_ s back appreciatively.  I can feel him smiling against my mouth.  I nibble on his lower lip, which gets me another _mm,_ and when I carefully increase the pressure of my teeth, he takes the hint and pinches my nipples tighter _._   I _mm_ right back into his mouth.

I wonder if this is how he and Fraser feel, when they do that thing where they carry on a whole secret conversation with hand gestures and significant glances.

Speaking of Frase, this whole thing must be working for him, too, because I can hear him breathing hard, even over the noises Ray-K and me are making.  I wish I could see what he’s doing to Ray-K; I wish I could see that turned-on face.  I wonder if he’s licking his lips again.  I wonder what he’d look like, licking. . .okay, there are a lot of things I’d like to see him lick.

Plus, nobody’s getting anybody pregnant until we all take off a lot more clothing.

So I stop kissing Ray-K, which he takes as an invitation to nibble on my neck.  I pet his hair to show my appreciation, but I do have an actual goal, here, so I tell Fraser, “Take his pants off.”

“Of course,” Fraser agrees. 

But actually, it’s not that simple, because I’m half lying down— _reclining_ against the pillows, and Ray-K’s kneeling between my legs, which, of course, means he’s kneeling on his pants, and the bed is old and springy.  So things get bouncy and awkward and elbow-y, with Ray-K thrashing his legs like a mermaid out of water while Fraser tugs on his pants.

Ray-K ends up sprawled on his back in just a pair of grey boxer-briefs, which are probably the silliest underwear I’ve ever seen on a man (not counting gag-gift boxers), but which also show off a pretty big bulge before Fraser pulls them off him, too.  At which point, Ray-K’s dick bounces up like a jack-in-the-box, because, oh yeah, he’s into this, all right.

(Pretty much every time I have sex with a guy there’s this moment, this one right now, where I remember that penises are, like, the silliest thing in the world.  Honestly, I think God designed them to remind women not to take men too damn seriously. 

On the other hand, it’s really handy to have a big un-miss-able visual sign to let you know how turned-on a guy is at any given moment.  Like right now.)

Fraser looks Ray-K down-and-up, and I swear, it's like he's painting him with his eyes: everywhere he looks, Ray-K's skin flushes pink.  Fraser licks his lips, and Ray-K bites his, and I’m not sure I should even be seeing this.  The two of them, together like this.  But it’s not like I can exactly leave.

So, I reach over and wrap my hand around Ray-K’s dick that’s just waving around by itself, there, and I don’t bother asking for permission first.  He yelps and jerks like he’s stepped on a third rail.  I can’t help it, I burst into giggles.  But I squeeze him, too, so he can’t get too offended.

Fraser sits back down on the edge of the bed, right next to me.

“You know, Francesca,” he murmurs in my ear in that melted-chocolate voice.  “I’ve always admired your directness.”

For a second, I get distracted wondering how he means that.  But then he starts pressing little kisses all down the side of my neck, and thinking?  Me?  Not so much.

“Speaking of which,” Ray-K puts in breathlessly.  “This plan does involve more nakedness, right?  Like, not just me?”

“Yeah,” I say, at the same time as Fraser says, “That would seem apropos, yes.”  Which I’ve gotta assume means he agrees that him and me should get with the getting naked, too.

“Ray, if you would?” he says, and “Francesca, if you wouldn’t mind?” 

He slides his arm behind me, tugs me to lean back against his chest, and then pops the button at the back of my skirt and pulls the zipper down with his other hand.  I clue in and lift my hips up off the bed so Ray-K can slide my skirt and panties down my legs.

He drops them over the edge of the bed, but when he turns back to look at me, he freezes up, and I do too, and we just kind of stare awkwardly at each other, like: _whoa, here we are, naked.  How weird is that?_

But Fraser, he goes, “Hmm. . .” in my ear, like he’s appreciating a piece of art, something beautiful and important and unique.  He kisses my shoulder, not that that wasn’t already bare before.

Which reminds me.

“You too, Frase,” I tell him, swatting his knee.  “Take it all off.”

Wow, those are words I never seriously thought I’d say in real life!  Fraser gets up with no fuss and just starts dropping clothes on the floor.  Belt, pants, shirt, undershirt.  For a couple of seconds, he stands there in nothing but white boxers so crisp they must be honest-to-God starched.

(Now I know what kind of underwear Fraser wears!  And Ray-K.  And it’s like they have some kind of silly-underwear competition going on.)

Ray-K’s looking up at him; when Fraser meets his eyes, Ray-K licks his lips deliberately, slowly.  Fraser nods, looks over at me, licks _his_ lips, and steps carefully out of those stupid boxers, and whoa, okay, now I know what Fraser’s _penis_ looks like.  It’s right there at eye-level, thick and curved up towards his stomach, and Fraser’s chest is flushed and he has basically no chest hair and his eyes look much darker blue than usual and oh my God, _Fraser’s penis_.

I take a deep breath and pull myself together, because seriously, I am a grown woman who’s seen her fair share of penises before, and also, Fraser’s penis is not the point here.  Yes, he’s still a gorgeous man, and yes, I used to have a thing for him, and maybe there’s a little piece of my heart that always will.  But mostly, he’s my friend—they both are—and what we’re doing here, having sex, it’s not. . . _about_ the sex.  It’s about making a baby, and. . .and making some kind of a family, too.

I swear to God, Fraser can tell exactly what I’m thinking, because he starts looking all uncomfortable and nervous, like he’d be tugging on his collar if he wasn’t butt-naked.  I roll my eyes and smile at him, trying to do that silent-messaging thing again: _Just friends, honest._ And he gets it!  I can see he does.  He relaxes, and smiles back, and his eyes silent-message back: _We’re in this together._   And then (looking over at Ray-K, and back at me): _We’re_ all _in this together._

Then he announces, “We appear to have achieved nudity,” in such a stuffy-college-professor voice that Ray-K snorts and I start giggling. 

Fraser stays perfectly straight-faced, his eyes are crinkle up with a hidden smile.  “What’s the next step of the plan?”

“Um. . .I don’t know, I mean. . .”  Jesus, it’s not like I actually have a plan, other than _have sex, hopefully get pregnant._   And now that I’m on the spot, my mind’s a total blank.  Normally, when I have sex with somebody, we don’t talk it through in advance, we just do it.  It’s nice of Frase to ask, but it’s also weird. . .which, you know, _nice but weird,_ that’s Fraser, all right.

Fortunately, Ray-K has a lot of practice interfacing between Fraser and the rest of us here on Planet Earth.

“You like oral, Frannie?” he suggests, all sexy-flirty as he cups a hand around my hip.  “That get you in the mood?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do that,” I say, trying to sound sexy back, although I probably end up sounding more nervous than anything.

“Okay, so.  We got a plan.  You wanna do the honors?” he asks Fraser.

“Actually, I’ve, ah. . .I’ve never. . .”  Now _Frase_ sounds nervous, all of a sudden, all flustered and stammering.  Only, instead of the squirrel-in-the-headlights stare, he’s looking back and forth between Ray-K’s face and mine, and he’s blushing all the way down to his nipples, and there’s none of that vibe like he’s in a corner and wants to run.  More like he _wants_.  Yeah.  Wow.

“So perhaps it would be best if you, ah, demonstrated how it’s done, Ray?” Frase finally finishes.  “If you wouldn’t mind?”  He gives me a quick look to include me in the question.  I nod.

“No sweat.  Get ready to learn from the master”  Ray-K flashes me one of those cocky grins.  “Okay, Frannie, you just get comfy and enjoy the ride.”

“As you say.”  Fraser’s gone back to that straight-face-with-laughing-eyes expression.  It’s a good look on him.  But. . .

“Um, so you’re. . .just gonna watch?” I ask.  I’m not sure how I feel about that.  I mean, being looked at is one thing, but a peep show is something else.

“Perhaps I could play a. . .supporting role?” Fraser suggests. 

Before I can ask what he means, he eases me up into a sitting position, swings one leg around me--—ha, ha, very funny with the puns, Fraser—and settles me back against his chest like he’s one of those hug-shaped pillows.  His hands come up to cup my breasts, and oh, yeah, this is way better.

Ray-K squirms into position between my legs and gets down to business with his tongue.  He goes at it real slow and sweet, which is not what I would have expected from him at all.  Guys like him, with that whole cool/macho act, guys who are into muscle cars and motorcycles and guns, you figure they probably go at sex all high-speed and rough corners and big bangs.  Plus, he’s not exactly the most patient guy in the universe.  But, sweet Jesus, he licks me like he’s got nothing better to do and doesn’t care if it takes all day.

If I’d known this about him before, maybe I would’ve spent less time hopelessly crushing on Frase, and crushed on Ray-K instead.  Which, you know, might not even have been so hopeless, because he wasn’t unattainable like Frase, Ray-K was _available,_ hell, he was desperate for a woman to give him the time of day. . .Only, not so much any more.  He and Fraser are happy together, and I don’t actually want a boyfriend, or God forbid, another husband.  But holy Moses, this?  This here is great.

And it gets even greater when Fraser starts playing with my nipples.  He’s nowhere near as gentle as Ray-K was, which is also a little surprising, but I bet he figured out from watching us earlier that less-gentle is exactly what I want.

I’m trying to be all cool—sexy but dignified, you know, instead of a sloppy mess—but I can’t stop the weird, whiny, whimpery noise that comes out of my throat.  Totally embarrassing, but Fraser’s cock twitches against my back, and he sucks in a sharp breath, and almost at the same time, Ray-K goes “Mmm. . .” sounding real happy, and that’s just—that’s _it_.  Maybe I’m not cool, but they sure as hell seem to think I’m sexy.  The more I make stupid noises and squirm like a beached fish, the faster Fraser’s hot breath puffs against my ear, and Ray-K’s making as much noise as I am, which I can hear _and_ feel because he’s moaning right into my crotch as he kisses and licks and massages me with his tongue.

_God,_ that feels good.  It’s been a long time since anybody did this for me—a lot of guys don’t like to, and the ones that bother aren’t necessarily any good at it, and anyway, the last time I dated was. . .who cares?  I’m wrapped in Fraser’s arms with his skin touching mine all over, and Ray-K’s tongue is sending hot shivers through me, faster and brighter, and Fraser groans softly in my ear, and my body’s tingling all over, clenching and arching, and Ray-K’s fingers dig into my thighs and he makes this high-pitched whimper as he keeps on licking me—

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” I gasp, reaching for it, so close, and then it’s there, I’m shuddering and making all kinds of noises, I don’t even care, it feels so good.  Fraser murmurs encouragement and satisfaction into my hair as Ray-K licks me slowly, delicately now, giving me a little tingly flicker every now and then as I wind down.

I slump back against Fraser and just lie there for a little as the last shivers drain away.  I feel like I’m floating, full of sunshine and champagne bubbles.  Wow.

Still sprawled between my legs, Ray-K looks up at me, kind of anxious and hopeful, checking to see if I liked it, I guess.  I give him a big smile, because _yes,_ _duh,_ and rub my foot over the back of his thigh.  He grins.

“See Frase?  That’s how the pros do it.”

“You learned from a professional?” I ask, just to get a rise out of them.

I feel Fraser stiffen behind me, but Ray-K rolls his eyes and says “Ha, ha, you’re a real comedian,” and Fraser relaxes, _phew_.

“I very much want to kiss him just now,” Fraser murmurs, so close to my ear, he’s more or less kissing _me_.  “Would that be all right?”

“Jeez, he’s your boyfriend, you don’t need _my_ permission!” I blurt.  Which is just the simple truth, but I kind of like that he asked.  Fraser’s a gentleman, even if maybe that’s a weird example of gentleman-hood.  I’ve always loved that about him.

“Even so,” he says. 

“Go ahead,” I say.  “Ray-K, c’mon up here.” 

Ray-K gets up on his knees, and I lean to one side to give Fraser some room, but the first thing he does is put his hand on my cheek.

“May I?” he asks, and this time he’s not asking about Ray-K.

I nod, and he kisses me sweetly.  Then he reaches a hand around the back of Ray-K’s neck and tugs him in to kiss him over my shoulder.  It’s a real long, thorough kiss, even though Ray-K’s mouth has got to taste nasty after the way he was licking me.  Which is a gross thought, but kind of hot, too—or maybe it’s just that the two of them kissing is incredibly sexy and beautiful, never mind where their mouths have been.

When they finally un-clinch, Ray-K leans back a little so he can see us and says, “This is weird.  I mean, right?  Is this weird?”

“I wouldn’t know,” says Fraser, which is, itself, a weird thing for him to say.

“Yeah, this is weird,” I confirm.  “But, um.  I’m liking it so far.”

“Yeah,” Ray-K echoes, sounding relieved.  He kisses me, just lightly, like maybe he knows I might think his mouth is a little gross right now, and I smile at him and then turn my head to kiss Fraser, and it’s all okay.

“Anyway, you’ve seen the demo, now it’s your turn,” Ray-K says to Fraser, and then, to me, “Unless you’re um, not in the mood for seconds?”

Honestly, it’s so damn nice, kissing them with Fraser wrapped around me, holding my breasts, that I’d almost rather just keep doing this.  But I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings, and, also, you know, _Fraser’s tongue._  

So I say, “Works for me.”

“As you wish,” says Fraser.  Ray-K and I catch each other’s eyes and crack up as Fraser disentangles himself from behind me.  He doesn’t ask what’s so funny.  Maybe Ray-K’s explained _The Princess Bride_ to him before.

Ray-K and Fraser switch places.  Ray-K has to squirm around a little to get comfortable sitting behind me, partly because he’s got one serious erection going.  I wiggle against him a little, then tip my head back to rest against his shoulder.  He gives me another no-tongue kiss, and I poke my own tongue out just enough to touch his lips: _hello to you, too._

“Hang on tight,” he whispers in my ear, sliding one hand over my belly button and cupping the other around my right breast.  “He learns quick.  And, you know, that tongue.”

I snort another giggle, but then Fraser puts that tongue into action, and _holy Mother of God_.

Since I just came a minute ago, everything feels different, more sensitive and less sensitive at the same time.  Fraser explores me slow and careful, like he’s planning to draw a map later.  Every time he does something that makes me gasp or twitch, he peeks up at me through those totally unfair eyelashes and then does it again, just to make sure he’s got it right.  Pretty soon, he’s got me panting and whimpering again, arching back against Ray-K’s bony chest.

“I wanna kiss you,” Ray-K says, fast and breathless in my ear.  “Can I kiss you, Frannie?  Now?  Like this?”

I turn my face until my lips meet his, and he doesn’t bother with the sweet stuff this time: he dives right into my mouth like he wants to eat me up.  Which, hah, I guess he already has, and I giggle at that thought, but it turns into a strangled moan when Fraser’s tongue presses down _just like that, Jesus._   Ray-K’s tongue back-and-forths with mine—he does taste fishy, big surprise, but I don’t care, because his mouth feels so damn good on mine, and he’s panting almost as hard as I am.

I rock up against Fraser’s mouth, and he groans, deep and loud, as he _sucks,_ and oh— _oh_ —I’m there, clenching up and then shuddering as the hot waves rush through me— _yes_ — _oh_ —

“Oh, yeah,” whispers Ray-K, kissing my ear as I gasp in air.  He’s still stroking my breasts, soothingly now, and Fraser’s doing the same to my thighs.  I close my eyes and let them take care of me for a little while, because man, this is better than that spa day Elaine and I splurged on that one time.

Fraser asks, “I take it my performance was satisfactory?” in a smug, challenging tone that means he’s probably talking to Ray-K, not me, and sure enough, Ray-K answers, “Yeah, yeah, flying colors, beginner’s luck,” while still playing with my breasts. 

Fraser says, “Hm,” and starts planting soft little kisses all along the inside of my thighs.  After a couple seconds, Ray-K starts doing the same to my ear.  I sigh happily and wriggle against Ray-K, and he sucks in a breath because, oh yeah, my back is rubbing against his hard-on.

Which reminds me: I’m being kind of rude, here, hogging all the orgasms for myself.  Plus, more important, we’re not just doing this for fun.  So, nice as it would be to just lie here for a couple hundred years, I open my eyes. 

“Guys?  Not to look a gift horse in the ear or anything, but last I checked, you stick to using your tongue if you _don’t_ want to knock anybody up.  Which, um.  We do kind of have a goal, here.”

“Right you are.”  Fraser sits up on his knees.  “How would you—?”

Before I can answer, Ray-K gently pushes me forward, off himself and onto my knees so I’m about an inch away from sitting in Fraser’s lap.  “What do you think?  Like this?”

His palm is warm in the middle of my back, keeping us connected, ready to support me if I lean back.  He slides it slowly down, all the way down to caress my butt and back up again.

“Yeah,” I say softly.  “This is good.”

“Well, then, just let me—” Fraser starts, looking over his shoulder, but Ray-K cuts him off with a snort.

“Don’t need a condom, Ben, we’re _trying_ to get her pregnant, remember?”

“Ah.  Indeed.  So we are,” says Fraser, and we all just kind of stop and look at each other like, _Whoa, yeah.  We are._

Kneeling on my spread knees with the two of them supporting me, I get this flash of feeling like we’re already there, in the future, in the delivery room, me giving birth to our baby with my _partners_ right there beside me.  I’m blinking away tears—silly—but when I look over at Ray-K, _his_ eyes are wet, too.

“We’re gonna make a baby,” he whispers, like a kid sharing his biggest secret, and I whisper back, “Yeah.  Yeah, we are.”

We both look at Fraser, who looks like he sees the enemy army marching over the hill and he’s damn well prepared to stand between them and the people he loves.

“Come on,” I say.  “Let’s do this.”

And we do.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art: Negotiation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15276918) by [mekare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekare/pseuds/mekare)




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